Don't fall in love, dear, it's very steerage class
by PaleMagnolia
Summary: [AU] 1912: the Crawleys set sail from Southampton to New York to visit Cora's mother, and during the crossing (Mary and Matthew are busy bickering, Sybil is charmed by an Irish passenger) Edith meets an old family friend, and learns that she's not invisible, after all... But, alas, they are sailing on the brand-new White Star Line leviathan: the majestic, ill-fated, RMS Titanic.
1. Southampton

"Well, it certainly _is_ astounding, don't you think, Mama?"

Sybil was staring at the enormous ship with eyes full of wonder. Her light blue dress was fluttering lightly in the morning breeze, her straw hat with its sky-blue ribbon making a bright contrast with her black hair. She was holding the hat down and squinting, as pretty and young as a rose blossom. The Dowager Countess, right behind her in a purple dress with matching hat, was leaning over her cane and mumbling something about how _cozy_ Dower House was, and why, _why_, for all the Saints and the Martyrs in Heaven, did she have to go on a sea trip at her age?

Cora smiled brightly at Sybil, while behind her Anna and that new valet Papa seemed so fond of - Mr Bates - took care of the luggage. "It really is. Isn't it, Mary?"

"It doesn't seem so much bigger than the other one – what was its name, Mama?, the one that brought us to America the last time we went to see Granny and uncle Harold" Mary was descending from the Daimler-Benz, helped by a valet. She was stunning as usual, in a striped outfit and an enormous feathered hat. She flaunted her usual unenthusiastic expression.

"I think it was the _Baltic, _dear."

Mary looked up at the ship, blinking in the sun like her younger sister, but with much more of a regal bearing.

Both of the Crawley girls looked like works of art, standing one next to the other in almost identical pose - but if Sybil was a Renoir – fresh and colorful and slightly dreamy, Mary was a Greek bas-relief: all chiseled nose and fierce profile, a marble Artemis statue. _Too bad_, thought Edith_, the closest to a work of art I can aspire to is a portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte._

"Oh, Mary, why do you have to be that blasé about everything?" Matthew was right behind Mary, smiling at her deadpan attitude.

"Mary is really hard to impress. Keep that in mind, if you plan to marry her."

"_Edith!_" said everyone in unison. And everyone – her father, Mama, her sisters – looked at her with the mixture of amusement and exasperation that was usually reserved to her… although Mary was more on the _exasperated_ side, while Matthew was the one looking more amused. The Dowager shook her head and snorted in a way that could indicate either dismay or approval – Edith was never really able to understand what her grandma was thinking.

"Thank you, Edith, I'll remember that!" Matthew laughed.

Edith smiled briefly at him – cousin Matthew was always kind to her - then turned her head, tight-lipped. She was feeling clumsy in her orange suit, and her hairdo was too tight. No one ever took her seriously, no one ever noticed her, and no wonder. While her sisters looked beautiful, well-rested and at ease, she had a growing headache, and all sorts of people kept bumping into her in a shower of _sorry, m'lady_.

No steerage passenger - with their coarse wool and tweeds and shabby hats - ever bumped into Mary. It looked as if she was surrounded by a halo of upper class elegance.

The only thing everyone seemed to care – even complete strangers, as if there was some secret universal agreement on it - about was Mary's pleasure, Mary's position, Mary's needs.

Everything, every time, was always about Mary, Mary, Mary.

That journey to New York, too, was all about her. Obviously.

Officially, they were going to America to see Granny: but the true reason they were boarding the most luxurious ship ever built was the difficult situation between Mary and her fiancé. Mama hoped that a trip to the New World – with all the modernity, and the much more relaxed manners of the American high society - would have smoothed things out. Not to mention she wished Granny Martha could put some American sense into Mary's hot little head.

Mary, Mary, Mary all around. Mary, who thought Matthew was not gentleman enough for her, who said he "couldn't even manage a knife properly". Mary, the Queen of the Castle. Mary, the cold-hearted minx, Mary the spoiled child.

_Here we go again_, Edith thought, bitterly, as she stared at the crowd pressing all around them. People embraced in tearful farewells, or waved handkerchiefs to friends and relatives on the decks above.

Another sea travel, with Mary shining in all of her charm in the First Class dining saloon, Sybil bewitching the ship crew with her freshness and her beauty… and her, the middle sister, the unimpressive, undistinguished Edith – feeling seasick in her bedroom for half the time, with a wet cloth over her forehead.

Anna would have probably brought her some food over a tray every now and then, and she would have tried to cheer her up – but the trouble is, the subject of Anna's conversation was inevitably going to include Mary.

"We'd better hurry, my dear girls" Papa indicated the way toward the first class gangway.

As she followed her parents and her sisters on the elevated boarding bridge, as she reached the entrance

to the D Deck doors, just behind Mary's striped back (with the fluffy, showy feathers on the gigantic hat preventing her from seeing anything), Edith almost wished she could throw her older sister off board into the icy Atlantic during the crossing.

Then maybe – _maybe_ – someone would have finally paid attention to _her _instead.


	2. Cherbourg

After hanging clothes and arranging shoes in the large wardrobe room, and dressed Edith, Anna was lacing Sybil's corset. The young girl was clutching the four-poster bed; Edith was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a pink frock and garnet jewels, watching her sister getting prepared. A white dress was carefully arranged on the bed.

"Ow, can you loosen it up a bit, Anna, please? I can't breathe."

"Of course, M'lady."

Edith suppressed a laughter.

"What's wrong?" Sybil looked at her.

"Nothing, Sybbie, really."

"I'm not putting on weight, if that's what you think."

"Sure you're not. I'd just like to get out of that room before the Titanic reaches New York. Do you think that's possible, Syb?"

Sybil snorted. "I don't get why we even wear corsets. They're so uncomfortable."

"Just because you'll soon be too fat to fit into one, it doesn't mean nobody should wear them."

"I'm not getting _fat_, Edith!" Sybil crossed her arms.

Edith laughed. "I'm kidding you, Syb. I was just trying to prevent you going off on another of your Suffragette rants."

"They're not _rants_, Edie. You're a woman, too – don't you think we should be able to do a bit more than just" Sybil made a vague gesture in the air with her gloved hand "embroidering handkerchiefs in our sitting rooms and waiting for a man to come and marry us?"

"You only say that because you are terrible at embroidering."

Sybil snorted, half amused and half irritated.

"Oh, come on. So are you saying that your one and only aim in life is to marry?"

"No." Edith touched her hair with her cupped hand and flaunted a _femme fatale_ expression "My only aim in life is to marry _richer than Mary_." They both giggled. Anna, too, smiled a bit behind Sybil's back.

Suddenly, they heard Mary's voice raising in anger in the adjacent room.

"… trying to understand. Believe me, I am." A muffled reply.

"… the estate…"

"… that's not the point…"

"… not going to convince me that you…"

"… I don't _care!_"

Some more yelling. A slammed door.

Sybil and Edith shared a knowing look.

"Here we go again" Sybil sighed.

"Is she _ever_ going to be satisfied with anything? If I had Matthew as a fiancé, I would be an _angel_ to him."

Sybil giggled. "That's for sure."

"What's for sure?" Mary had opened the door and was staring at them with an annoyed expression.

"Nothing, Mary. We were just making small talk. We're almost ready." Sybil smiled sheepishly at her.

"I hope so. We're late for tea. Oh, Anna? I need help with my hairdo, it's a bit loose."

"Of course, M'lady."

Mary got out in a whirlwind of pearl-grey silk, followed by Anna.

Edith rolled her eyes. "Her hairdo is loose, dear God, how can we survive such a tragedy? Hope Anna fixes it before the entire world collapses, the ship sinks to the bottom of the Atlantic and we all die a horrible death!"

"_Edith!_"

"Oh, don't be such a bleeding heart, Syb!"

Just after tea in the First Class Lounge – soft lights and soft clinking of silver cutlery; fringed lamps and potted palms, lace napkins and decorated china cups, all marked with the White Star Line emblem – the Crawleys went walking on the A-deck rail aft. The Titanic was all lit up like a palace, and its portholes reflected in the calm water of the Cherbourg harbor; the sky was purple, the air was getting cold.

Cora and Robert, arm in arm and all smiles, kept bumping into old British friends and American acquaintances. Sybil was leaning over the railing, to see the passengers boarding the ship from the tender; Mary and Matthew walked side by side, but still didn't talk to each other.

Edith didn't know exactly what to do. She couldn't indulge in Sybil's childish behavior – she was not seventeen anymore. Her parents were busy exchanging greetings with the Countess of Rothes, the Astors or Colonel Gracie, Mary was busy ignoring Matthew.

She was, as always, left behind.

A handsome, blue-eyed officer passed them by, touching his hat in sign of respect. Edith smiled to him, but he didn't seem to notice. He was hurrying towards the wheelhouse.

"Mama! Look!" Sybil was staring down.

"What's the matter, dear?" Cora approached her daughter.

"Look at that lady. Do you know her? She's such fun!"

A stout woman in a flashy wine-red suit was climbing the gangwalk carrying a couple of leather suitcases in each hand. A porter was trying to catch up with her and take the bags.

"Well, I couldn't wait for you all day, sonny!" she cheerily told him from beneath her gigantic, tasteless feathered hat.

Sybil giggled.

"Oh, dear, what a ghastly woman" Mary sharply commented, taking a quick look over the railing.

"Don't be snobbish, darling." Cora reproached her. "I think she might be that wealthy American woman uncle Harry told me about - Margaret Brown."

"Who is she?" Edith asked. The woman looked very rich – her clothes, her jewels were a bit showy, but certainly expensive -, but her accent was terrible and she walked like a carter.

"She started out very poor, I think her parents were Irish immigrants or something. Then her husband struck gold someplace out west, and she went from washing dishes in Leadville straight to attending charity balls for the Denver Woman's Club." said Robert. "Doesn't your brother know Mr. Brown, Cora?" he added.

"Yes, Harold was involved in some mining business with him, a few years ago."

"New money." Mary snorted.

"I think it's romantic." Sybil replied. "It's terrific that people make their own lives, especially women!"

Everyone stopped talking: the woman was coming their way, a big smile on her face. "Cora, my girl, is that _you_?"

Cora smiled back, a little taken aback. "Mrs. Brown, what a pleasure. Is your husband with you?"

"Nah, J.J. is in Denver. Say hello to your brother Harry when you see him – the old ladykiller!" The woman laughed loudly. "Now I need to take these to my room." She nodded towards her suitcases. "Hope this ship is as comfy as it's pricey! See ya!" She walked away, her broad figure trotting along the deck.

"Can you introduce me to her, Mama? Please?" Sybil's eyes were shining.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mary closed her eyes in disgust.

Cora looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, she is an… _interesting_ woman, of course. But she is – how can I say? – a bit unrefined."

"You mean, terribly vulgar."

"_Mary!_"

Mary rolled her eyes. "I don't see why you all insist in sugarcoating _everything_. We all think that woman is boorish, but you keep saying she's "interesting" like she is some sort of exotic animal. You're all so pious." Mary turned around and got inside in an angry tickling of heels.

"What's gotten into her?" Robert looked confused. Matthew opened his arms in resignation.

Edith felt sorry for the poor guy.


	3. Ragtime

At dinner, Mary and Matthew sit next to each other, exchanging few, excessively polite words.

"Would you mind giving me the apple sauce, please, darling?", "This asparagus vinaigrette is just divine, isn't it, Matthew?" and so on.

Mary's shoulders were so stiff, her eyes so sharp, the line of her jaw so tight that she could as well had been a general of the Anglo-Burmese war (a very well-dressed general, with a corset and a red velvet dress, that is, but still), ready to go into battle. Her voice, though, was the sweetest molasses, and she smiled like a pre-Raphaelite angel at everyone. Edith thought she had never met another person with such an acting talent in her life.

Sybil, all dressed in blue _crepe de Chine_, her topaz earrings shining every time she moved her head, was chatting heartily about socialism with the young son of a diplomat, careless of the disapproving glances of her mother. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful girl at their table. Even the Countess of Rothes, with her patrician features, hourglass figure and beautiful dark hair, couldn't stand the comparison.

Granny was having dinner in her room, because, as she had said, "Watching all of those Americans trying to cut the _filet mignon_ with a dessert knife would make me lose my appetite. And appetite, my dear girls, is one of the few things I have managed to keep even when the Parliament approved the Second Reform Act."

Bored – nobody was paying much attention to her, as usual – Edith looked around. She had chosen a very ornate green dress that she thought suited her, but the comparison with her sisters was far from flattering. Even in the simplest of their frocks, Mary was classier, Sybil prettier. She played around with her emerald pendant.

The dining room was extremely elegant, even overwhelming – potted palms, crystal chandeliers -, the waiters impeccably dressed in black and white. Every piece of tableware (from the wine glasses to the tiny crab forks) had the small flag with a white star carved or painted or etched on it. A small orchestra was playing _Alexander's Ragtime Band_ and _On_ _The Beautiful Blue Danube;_ soft laughter, polite conversation, and the clinking of glasses and forks almost covered the music.

Edith remembered something Mama told her the last time they went to London: ladies should never eat anywhere but at the hotel they are staying. The dinner saloon on the Titanic was the closest she would ever get to a restaurant; she wondered what would have been like, dining out, alone, like one of these ordinary-looking, tastelessly-dressed, middle-class women, maybe in company of a _man_…

Suddenly, Edith realized that, in her daydreaming, she had been accidentally staring the person sitting in front of her for quite a long time, and now that person was staring back at her with a quizzical smile on his face.

He was a tall man in his forties, very properly dressed – even a bit too formal, his shirt stiff with starch, his white necktie a little too tight. He had blonde, a bit receding hair and an open, honest English face, his features regular and a bit plain, at first glance. His warm blue eyes, though, showed a calm intelligence. He had somehow the appearance of a schoolmaster, of a scholar, but the detail that drew the attention was the black silk sling holding his – apparently useless - right arm.

(She remembered meeting him at teatime, only a few hours before: he and her father had shaken hands and greeted each other like old friends. Papa had turned to Mama, smiling. "You do remember our friend sir Anthony, don't you, dear?" "Of course", Mama had replied, with one of her charming smiles. "Don't you, my dear girls? He used to come to Downton when you were children.")

Edith batted her eyelids, uneasy. "Uh, ah, I'm sorry, sir…" she tried to remember what the man's name was. "… sir Anthony. I'm afraid I was a bit absent-minded."

Sir Anthony smiled shyly. "It looks like you were thinking about something pleasant, lady…" he tilted his head. "… _Edith?_ Is that right?"

Edith smiled and nodded. Thank God he got it right! She couldn't count the times people called her Edna or Ethel by mistake. Nobody ever seemed to catch her name the first time.

"Why would you say that?"

"You were smiling." He smiled, too, as to underline what he was saying. He had a nice smile - a bit awkward, maybe.

Edith chortled. She wished she could say something smart: Mary would have known what to say. She would have flirted and smiled and said all sort of witty things, she would have touched her hair and put a hand in front of her mouth while laughing, she would have reached through the table to touch his arm lightly, and in no time the man would have had eyes for her only.

"Why, of course I'm smiling, why shouldn't I?"

Sir Anthony made a quick, clumsy chuckle and leaned his head to point at his right arm. "Well, I'm not usually the sort of figure that inspire lovely young women like you to smile, am I?"

Edith froze; sir Anthony noticed it and tried to make amends. "I don't know why I said that. Please forgive me." He smiled again, sheepishly.

Edith didn't know what to say. In a corner of her mind, though, she took note that he had called her "lovely".

The poor man was clearly embarrassed, and he was poking absent-mindedly at his chicken lyonnaise with his fork, his eyes staring down. Edith wondered how did he manage to cut his own food, without the use of the right arm. She struggled for something to say.

"Did you… did your arm get injured on a battlefield?" that was not exactly a proper talking point – it was a rather rude question, actually – but Edith didn't really know what to say. She had never been very good in holding a conversation – or in anything else inplying social skills; but she thought men liked to talk about wars and politics and that sort of things. It made them feel manly – or, at least, that was what Mama used to say.

Sir Anthony looked up at her, a bit confused. "Boer War" he said, after a short hesitation. "In 1902, shortly before the end." He smiled, another small, clumsy smile. "Caught a bullet in the wrong place, you see."

"How unfortunate!" Edith paused. "It must have been terribly hard."

"Oh, it was a long time ago. Ten years – I can't quite believe how much time had passed." He shook his head. "Seems like yesterday. You know… you know, sometimes, at night, I still hear rifle shots…" He smiled shyly. "Of course, it's only in my imagination."

"Oh, dear. I can't imagine how terrible that must have been." Edith paused. "But I'm sure" she smiled at him "I'm sure you fought very heroically."

Mama always said all men love to be praised.

Sir Anthony gently shook his head as to dismiss her last sentence. "Wars are a horrible, horrible thing. You wouldn't believe it. Much dirtier and noisier and much less heroic than people like to think. Fighting is only a small part of it, really" He grinned, but in a sad way.

Edith gave him an encouraging look. "Is it?"

"Most of the time, you know, all you do is wait - sleepless, under pouring rain, wondering when the enemy is going to strike. You get so tired. And you won't believe how much pain – how much _useless_ pain - you have to see. All those poor boys, hardly your age, trying so hard to grow a mustache to look a bit older… falling like dead leaves." He took a sip of wine. "And, you know - in the face of pain there are no heroes. No, there are no heroes."

He took another sip from his glass, then he looked at Edith – who was listening with an intent expression on her face. He shrugged, in a _don't-listen-to-this-old-man_ way. "I only seem to say the most unsuitable things, tonight, don't I? I do apologize, Lady Edith."

But Edith was far from displeased. She had started listening to him out of politeness (because, as Mama always said, one should always look interested in what people say), but by the end she was thrilled. Nobody _ever_ talked to her like that. Her food had gotten cold in her dish, because she had forgotten to eat: nobody ever chatted with her about anything different from the usual, polite clichés people of her rank used to talk about. She thought nobody_ ever_ talked about anything else apart from the weather, horses, and who was getting married to whom.

She didn't even know if it was entirely appropriate – talking about that sort of thing (dirt, injuries, death) with a young lady. No, it must certainly wasn't. But she was fascinated anyway.

"I don't see the need to apologize at all." She smiled, and he smiled back, a sweet, bewildered smile. "Actually, I would like you to tell me more about it. Would you, please, Sir Anthony?" She became aware that a few people around the table had stopped their conversations and were looking at the two of them: Mary was one of them. She raised an eyebrow to her, looking a bit surprised that her sister was actually talking with a man. Matthew had turned his back to her, apparently out of exasperation.

Mistaking her fascination for kindness, Sir Anthony declined. "You are very kind, Lady Edith… You are a very sweet girl indeed - to take interest into this old man and his wartime stories. But I've bored you enough, I reckon."

"No, not at all, I… I actually – I would _really_ like to…"

Mary, who had apparently grown tired of tormenting Matthew, turned to them. She put a bright smile on and grabbed Edith's arm.

"Is our Edith harassing you, dear Sir Anthony?" She squeezed her arm in a gesture of affectionate reproach, in a way that suggested she and Edith were very close to each other, that they were used to light-heartedly tease each other like that. Which wasn't exactly an accurate picture: Mary used to tease Edith, yes, but not really light-heartedly, and they were as close and affectionate as a cat and a dog.

Strallan lifted his head and smiled back. "Oh, no, no, no, not at all, I, uh, ah…"

_Typical._ Edith thought. Mary just needs to snap her fingers for every man to lose the ability to speak English. And she snaps her fingers _all the time_.

"Don't let her bother you." Mary added, her smile even wider. "I warn you, she becomes a real chatterbox when she's around handsome men like you."

Sir Anthony flushed and laughed ("_Oh, Lady Mary, I, ah, I don't think… You're really - kind…_"), in a bashful way that broke Edith's heart. _For once in my life_, she thought, _for once in my life somebody looked a bit interested in me…_

Mary was saying something else Edith did not quite catch. She and Strallan were laughing together. The orchestra was playing _Orpheus, _as if to mock her.

_I've only been able to make him talk about war and death_, Edith thought, bitterly. _And look – Mary says a word and he's laughing and blushing like a schoolboy._

Mary turned her head to her sister for a moment and smiled like a naughty child, then went back to finish bewitching Sir Anthony.

Edith stared at her. God, she hated her so much. Why couldn't she leave her alone? Why did she have to prove she was better than her – prettier than her, smarter than her, funnier than her, better dressed, more skilled, taller, classier – every time, _every single time?_

_One day_, she thought, _one day I'll make you pay back._

She blinked to fight back the tears of anger. Then she put a smile back on her face and joined the conversation. She even laughed at something Mary said.

She was good at it, she learnt to do it a long time before.

She had to.


	4. Stars

After the dessert, Mary and Matthew had somehow managed to make it up: they were staring lovingly at each other and holding hands by the time waiters started moving around with cigars in humidors on wheeled carts. All the men started clipping ends and lighting.

"Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?", Robert Crawley said in a jovial tone, getting up from his chair.

"I wouldn't say no to a whist match, too, if anyone's interested. Matthew, my boy? Strallan, dear chap?"

Matthew stood up with a smile. "I'll walk Mary to her room, then I'll be your man." Sir Anthony, though, declined the invitation with a gesture of his good hand.

Mary and Matthew left, and Sybil and Lady Grantham went with them.

"Darling, aren't you coming?" Mama said. Edith considered leaving, too, because she was tired and slightly depressed: but she was on the verge of tears after Mary's teasing, and she couldn't bear the thought of breaking down and cry in front of Mama and her sisters. She thought it better to let Mary get undressed and go to sleep before going. That way, her sister would have missed the opportunity to have a last dig at her. Edith didn't think she could have managed to stand her anymore – the dinner had been enough for her nerves.

So she decided to stay a bit more, trying to avoid resuming the conversation with Sir Anthony: after Mary's performance, she felt duller than usual, embarrassed.

She was moving the leftover éclairs around in her dessert plate with the spoon when she heard someone discreetly clearing his throat. She looked up, and Sir Anthony was standing up, staring at her with a shy smile on his face.

"Lady Edith, would you – _ah_ - let me walk you to your room?"

She stared at him, surprised, then she realized all of the other tablemates were getting up and saying their good nights.

"Oh" she said, a bit confused. "Yes. Yes, of course. You're very kind." She stood up. They smiled at each other, uncomfortably.

-...

They walked down the deck, along the row of lifeboats.

The night was cold and crystal clear, stars shining bright overhead. Sir Anthony – who was more than a head taller than her, and made her feel as small as a child - had offered his arm to her, and Edith had accepted, flattered. There was nothing flirty in his gesture, only old-fashioned gallantry; she had never had a man doing that sort of things to her.

They walked in silence for a bit; through the doors, the sound of the ship's orchestra wafted gently.

"You know" Sir Anthony said, suddenly "when I came to visit, you used to sit on my knees, play with my tie." He smiled. "When you were little, of course. You and your younger sister – Sybil, is that right? Pretty as a rosebud…" He looked down at her. "Well, you are all very pretty, the three of you, actually." He chuckled. "Mary, though, she was too dignified, even back then. She was always all… _put together_, composed, even when she was just a child."

"Yes, I can imagine." Edith regretted saying it the moment after – Mama would have be so upset: a lady should never, ever speak ill about anybody, let alone her family. Not in public, anyway.

"You, uh" Sir Anthony gazed at her "you don't get along very well – you and Mary – do you?" he said, shyly.

Edith looked up at him. "Why do you say that?" she tried to smile, but – funnily enough – she couldn't.

"Just an, _ah_ - an impression. She must be – forgive me if I say that – a difficult person to live with. I mean, she's got a – _uh_ – an overwhelming personality. (Edith snorted. "She does.") Fascinating, of course – who wouldn't be the object of her attention? – but…?" He struggled for the right word.

Edith tilted her head. "Everything has to be about her, yes."

They walked in silence for a moment or two. Then sir Anthony spoke again, in a faltering tone.

"You know, my sister – I have an older sister, friend of your mother's – she used to be like Mary. Fascinating woman. Everyone was crazy about her, the servants, too - they used to think the world about her. I never really got out of her shadow."

Edith looked up at him. "Oh?" She could picture her, even though she had never seen her. Blonde and blue-eyed like him, tall, her features as regular as his, but pretty where he was plain, lively and outgoing as he was shy.

"Don't get me wrong, I loved her – of course I loved her. But I would also have liked her to – well, _disappear_, sometimes." He smiled. "But I'm sure you're not interested in that."

Edith did not answer. Actually, she was puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken, but she also felt strangely at ease. Like earlier, at dinner, his way of talking was awkward and hardly appropriate, but had a frank, honest quality she had rarely witnessed, and most of the things he said seemed to hit close to home, in an odd way. The very way he said those things – always at the wrong time –, his straightforward yet bashful way of talking, somehow, reminded Edith painfully about herself.

In a world where everyone seemed to know perfectly their place, where everyone was always properly dressed and confident, at ease, and always knew exactly what to say and what to do, he looked ungainly and naïve, out of place. The damaged right arm, and even his height – the way his head towered over almost anyone else's – seemed to add to his clumsiness, to what seemed like a perennial discomfort that permeated him.

They had reached the First Class Entrance, but they didn't go straight in, not wanting the evening to end – they stared at each other, embarrassed, not knowing what to say.

"Would you -" Sir Anthony started, then he stopped abruptly, with a smile. "Of course you wouldn't."

Edith smiled quizzically. "What? What wouldn't I?"

"_Ah_…" He looked down at his shoes, then up, then left, anywhere but at her face. "I was wondering – it's such a beautiful night, isn't it…?, and I, eh, I wouldn't mind a bit of fresh air before going to bed. I don't think you would accompany me, though…?"

Edith was startled. Walking around with a man she barely knew, unchaperoned, at night…? What would Mama say? What would Mary do? Well, Mary would have done that, no doubt – but she was not always acting as ladylike as one would expect from the daughter of an Earl. Despite all of the airs she put on, Edith thought, she was, in fact, a bit of a trollop.

Granny would have disinherited her for something like that – no doubt. Well, maybe, if Sir Anthony had been _a duke_, she would have closed an eye on it – but, alas, he was just a baronet, thus unworthy of any mercy on her side.

But – what did _she_ want to do? Much to her surprise, she did want to go – she really did. Rather a lot, to be honest with herself.

"I shouldn't have asked you that, I really don't know what's got into me…" sir Anthony was saying, when, to both his and Edith's disbelief, Edith blurted "Yes, yes I would love to."

Sir Anthony stared at her. "Would you?"

Edith smiled. "Of course."

...

At some point, Edith shivered at a sudden gush of wind: she was wearing a short-sleeved, low-cut dress, and her long white gloves didn't keep her very warm. She had goose bumps on her arms.

"Are you cold? Here, let me… here, take this." He impulsively took off his dinner jacket.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, you really shouldn't…" Edith begun, but he let him put the jacket (warm, heavy, smelling faintly like cologne and cigars) on her shoulders. She thought his gesture was incredibly gallant. She only ever saw this done in her romantic novels.

"Would you like to go back inside? I'm sorry I drag you into this…"

"No, I'm perfectly fine, now, thank you. Please, let's go on." Edith placed her hand lightly on sir Anthony's forearm.

They walked up and down the deck, talking about this and that. Wind blew his white shirt, pushed the fabric against his chest, ruffled their hair. The air smelled like sea water and coal smoke; Edith could hear the boilers humming quietly under her feet. The Titanic was a mighty machine, indeed.

"Can you feel it? This… constant vibration?"

Sir Anthony looked at her. "You're very observant. The Titanic has three very powerful propellers, each one as tall as three men, one on top of the other. That's the shudder you feel."

"Oh."

They felt silent for a while.

"I thought you would have joined Papa and the others. Don't you like cards?" Edith said, to break the silence.

"It's hard to play card games, when you only have one good hand." He laughed.

Edith flushed. "Oh. I'm… I'm sorry."

Sir Anthony look mortified. "Oh, no, no, don't be. Please don't feel sorry for me." He tilted his head. "I should really stop saying that sort of things, really." He shook his head. "It's only that, you know – earlier, at dinner, I had the feeling that you… how can I say? understood me – well, sort of. Or, at least, you were so kind to let me think so." He chuckled, in his never-really-comfortable way. "In a way, you remind me of Maud."

"Maud?"

"My late wife, bless her soul. She passed away two years ago, just after we came back from Bonn. She was always willing to listen, always trying to cheer me up." He bit his lip. "She didn't make a very good deal, when she married me: in a few years all she had by her side was a sad cripple that always talked about wars."

"I'm sure she didn't see it that way, Sir Anthony." Edith said, and she meant it.

"Of course she didn't." He smiled: not to Edith in particular, a sweet, unfocused smile. "She even followed me around the Continent when I was engaged in all those awful diplomatic talks in Austria and Germany."

"Oh?"

"The Government sent me to negotiate with Kaiser Bill, but, as Maud once said – quite undiplomatically, I shall say - he had a screw loose."

"You were sent to talk with the Kaiser?" Edith was impressed. She looked up at his face, and suddenly noticed how his features were not plain at all, as she previously thought.

"Well, mostly, it was _him_ talking to _me_. And most of the time to say that I was trying to poison him, or that I was as mad as a March hare, like every other Englishman. And that I was too damn tall to be trusted." He chuckled.

Edith laughed, too. "Well, you definitely _are_ tall. Poor Kaiser Bill, must have stood on a chair to talk to you." They laughed again, in the cold, starry night.

"Well, we had a lot in common. He has an atrophic arm, you know, he was born that way. Maybe the Queen thought that having another cripple around would have cheered him up."

Edith chuckled, in spite of herself. "She though you two would have been best buddies?"

He laughed. "He wouldn't have _given his right arm _for me, no. And I think I'd rather have kept him at _arm's length_."

_How could he joke about his injury like that?_ Edith thought, both admired and bewildered. "Oh, stop that."

Sir Anthony sobered up. "I apologize."

"No, it was funny. It was."

They stopped under a lamp; they were at the First Class Entrance again. Edith looked up: his profile – the sad mouth, sharp nose – was austere and yet reassuring, somehow softer in the warm light. Edith could see him as he probably looked like when he was younger – his cheeks less hollow, his eyes brighter, no wrinkles on his forehead.

"Here we are."

"I guess we should… go in?" she said.

"Yes, of course. I guess. I hope I'll have the pleasure to see you again at luncheon, lady Edith?"

"Of course. Of course you will." Edith smiled. He opened the door for her, they got in. The corridor was warm and fully lighted. Sir Anthony walked her to the door of her family's suite.

He smiled. "Well… Goodnight, then?"

"Goodnight, sir Anthony." But neither moved, and they stood here for a few moments, smiling like idiots at each other.

"All right. I'll better go." Sir Anthony smiled again, then touched the brim of his hat with the tips of his fingers.

"Sir Anthony?"

He turned back. "Yes, lady Edith?"

"Your… your jacket." She handed the jacket to him. Without it, she felt strangely exposed.

"Oh, of course."

He came back and took it. "Good night."

"Good night."

...

When she opened the door to the suite, she almost run into Sybil, who was apparently trying to sneak off.

"Sybil?" Edith whispered, surprised. "Where are you goin-"

"Sshhh" Sybil put her finger on her mouth. "You'll wake everyone up." She grabbed Edith's arm and pulled her out of the room.

In the corridor, she looked up at her. "Please, please, please, don't tell Mama, please."

Edith was baffled. "But what… what are you doing? Do you have any idea of what time is it? You should be in bed, and – what is that?" She grabbed one of her sleeves. Sybil wore a white cotton blouse with an Irish lace collar, and a plain grey skirt: clothes that were suspiciously similar to something Anna or one of the other maids would have worn on a day off – definitely not something you would have seen on one of the Crawley sisters.

"Anna gave it to me. She didn't want to, she was worried about me, but I begged her…

"Worried about what?" Edith could see that something very, very dangerous was going to happen.

Listen, you know that boy I was talking to during dinner, Kemal? The ambassador's son? He said there's a wild party down in Third Class, and he wants to go and see what it's all about."

"What?"

"Listen, nobody will ever know I've been there, ever. I'll never again have another opportunity like that. Please, please let me go!"

Edith stared at her. "But – but why? Why would you want to go there? I mean, those steerage people – you know, they're steelworkers, coal miners, even criminals, maybe, runaways… they have nothing to do with us!"

"That's exactly what fascinates me about them!"

"But they might – I don't know – rob you, or…"

"That's why I'm not wearing jewels or anything! Don't worry – with those clothes, I'll fit right in! They won't even know who I am!"

"But…" Edith was running short of words. Her sister wasn't listening to her at all.

"I could be anyone!" Sybil's eyes were gleaming. "A schoolteacher, a maid… an actress!"

"Sybil…"

"That's my occasion to see what is really happening, you know, in the real world. Real people, Edith. Our life, the life we live – dinner parties and cotillions and polo matches – this is not real." She looked at Edith with her clear, sincere blue eyes. "We live inside a bubble, you know that, and someday this bubble's going to burst. Those people down here" she pointed a finger to the floor. "Their life is real. They have real problems, not like ours. They fight to survive – and yet they still have the strength to sing and dance and drink and…" Sybil was out of breath. "I want to see it, Edith. I _need_ to see it."

Edith stared at her, then opened her arms. "Is there anything I can say to dissuade you from doing it?"

Sybil smiled. "No."

Edith sighed. "Then go. But be careful. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Her sister laughed quietly. "Then I should just go back to my room and do nothing at all." She rapidly kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Edie. I owe you." Then she rushed away along the empty, softly lit corridor.

"Try not to get head lice!"

Edith stood there for a moment of two before going back inside. _Sybil's right_, she thought_. I never do anything. I'm always trying to be as reputable as I can, always avoiding everything that might rise even the slightest gossip, always being serious and proper and ladylike._

For the very first time in her life, Edith started doubting her way of life. For the first time, she asked herself – _was it worth the while? _


	5. Breakfast

Edith woke up feeling strangely good. When she got up and went to the dressing table, she was surprised to see how good she looked, too: her skin was fresh and rose-colored, her eyes glowed. Usually, during sea travels, she felt horrible, but the crossing so far had been so smooth, the ship so steady, that she did not have any of her usual symptoms of sea sickness.

A bit of attention from a very gallant gentleman may have helped, too.

While she was lacing up her corset, Anna noticed that.

"You look in very good form this morning, M'lady." She said, smiling.

"Yes, Anna, I feel unusually well, thank you." Edith smiled back.

"What would you like to wear today?"

"I don't know. Maybe the white dress, the one with the floral trim at the neck. You know which one I'm talking about, don't you? It was Mary's but she never wore it. Mama had a seamstress fit it to me."

Editht thought that, even in clothing, she had to content with Mary's leftovers. She tilted her head and glanced at Anna upon her shoulder. "Do you think it would be becoming on me?"

"Of course, M'lady." Anna tied the strings of the corset.

"No, I mean it." Edith turned around. "I'd like a honest opinion."

"M'lady…"

"I could ask my sisters, but Sybil would say I look lovely even if I was wearing a sack, just out of kindness, and Mary would tell me I look horrible even if I was gorgeous." She thought about it a bit. "Not that I usually look anywhere near gorgeous, anyway."

"Don't say that, M'lady. You're a fine-looking young woman." Anna tried to cheer her up. She felt a bit sorry for her, Edith thought. Of course she did: it must be hard to her not to make comparisons between her and her (far more good-looking) sisters. "Have you tried asking Her Ladyship for advice? Lady Mary often does it."

" When I ask Mama, she always tells me I look lovely without even bother looking at me. Also, Mary must be so much easier to dress." She sighed. "She looks marvelous no matter what she wears. She would be beautiful even if she went around covered in mud."

"Lady Mary is a very lovely woman… as well as both of her sisters." Anna looked embarrassed. " But, if I can give my humble opinion, M'lady, if I were you, I wouldn't choose the embroidered dress. I think the green one, the one with the _valencienne_ lace overdress, looks better on you."

"The one I wore at the garden party, a couple of weeks ago? Really?"

"Yes, M'lady."

"Isn't it a bit too frilly for so early in the morning? All of those layers of lace…"

Anna tilted her head to the side. "Maybe. But it suits you very much, M'lady. Goes well with your hair color, too."

Edith thought about it. "Well then, take the green one, please. I'd like to be pretty this morning."

"Of course, M'lady." Anna went to the wardrobe room and came back with the lace frock. "Everyone on the Titanic is so well-dressed, don't you think, M'lady?" Anna sometimes liked to chat a bit with the girls: Edith didn't mind, and she knew that Mary, in particular, was really fond of the maid.

"Yes, Anna, looks like everyone is trying to do their best to be especially good-looking. This ship is so elegant itself that it makes you feel like you ought to make a special effort."

Actually, Edith thought in a corner of her mind, this was not the main reason she wanted to be particularly good-looking. But still, it was true: the Titanic _was_ intimidating indeed, in all its opulence and grandness.

Edith stared at her reflection in the mirror. She put her hands on her waist. Wasn't it a bit too wide? Was she putting on weight? And she would have liked her breasts to be pushed a little higher.

"Could you please tighten this corset up a little bit, Anna?"

Anna looked a bit perplexed. Edith usually asked her to loosen it up. "Of course, M'lady."

"I should hate to look dumpy, today."

. . .

Dressed with the frock Anna had chosen for her (fine lime green silk, covered by an overdress made of layers upon layers of delicate white lace) with her body tightly squeezed in the corset, and her curls arranged in a flattering up-do, Edith felt unusually pretty when she joined the rest of her family for breakfast. She felt pleased with herself, not something she experienced very often – a high self-esteem wasn't something Mary allowed her to have. Every time she was happy with herself, Mary was ready to put her down in her place with some sharp remark.

Mary was already there, sitting near Mama and eating a small buttered toast, and when she saw her, all of Edith's newly found confidence crumbled away. The light from the window was streaming directly into her face; in such strong light most people look somewhat washed out, but her sharp, aristocratic features were only illuminated until her profile seemed carved in agate like a cameo. Timeless, grave, perfect.

Her sister looked a hundred times more beautiful than her, without any effort, with none of the small trickeries Edith needed. She was wearing a simple white dress with navy-blue trimmings, and her dark hair were arranged in a plain knot at the nape of the neck, still she looked far more elegant than Edith in her fancy gown.

"Ah" Mary smiled ironically when she saw her. "Look who's all dolled up this morning."

"Mary!" Mama gave her a dirty look, to which Mary answered with a shrug. "Don't listen to her, darling. You look lovely." She smiled to her.

"Thank you, Mama." Edith sighed, bending to kiss her mother on the cheek. She suddenly felt out-of-place: her dress was too elaborate, her hairstyle was too elegant, she looked like a fool as usual. She thought for a minute to go back to her room and change, but then she realized that, if she had done it, Mary would have teased her about it endlessly. She wondered if Anna had chosen that dress knowing that it would have made her look like an idiot. Anna and Mary were so close, maybe they liked to have a laugh behind her back every now and then… But no, she was so adamantly honest that she wouldn't have done something like that: Edith knew, and the thought made her sad, that Anna felt a bit of pity for her.

Well, the damage was done: but she was surely going to change for luncheon, anyway, so it was only a matter of a few hours.

She sat down and let a waiter pour some tea in her cup. She glanced at Sybil, who was approaching the table sporting a perfectly innocent expression. "Good morning, Mama" she said, cheerfully. "Papa, Mary. 'Morning, Edith." She looked well-rested and at ease, as if nothing had happened the night before.

Edith wondered how the "wild party" had gone: she resolved to ask her about it, the first time she caught her alone. She could have bet Sybil had had lots of fun: her younger sister was such a rebel at heart… so unlike her. She preferred solid, safe things… surely, their evening couldn't have been more different. She imagined Sybil letting loose below decks, while she and Anthon… she and _Sir Anthony_ were walking under the stars.

She wondered if she would have seen him during the morning. He told her he would have loved to see her again at luncheon: did he mean it, or was it just old-fashioned gallantry? After getting to her room (she had to wake Anna up to get undressed, thought she felt sorry for that), she had slipped between the crisp cotton sheets of her bed (brand new and smelling like lavender: nobody had ever slept in them), and she had replied the events of the evening over and over in her head, every word and every expression, every smile. When she finally fell asleep, she even dreamed about him, but she couldn't remember exactly what it was about. The thought of dreaming about a man made her blush.

"Are you all right, darling? You haven't eaten at all." Lady Grantham asked. "Are you seasick?"

"No, Mama, I'm fine."

"Edith isn't feeling sick during a sea travel? Apocalypse must be near." Mary said, behind her cup of tea.

"Your cheeks are so _red_." Lady Grantham touched Edith's face with the back of her hand. "Are you sure you don't have a fever? Your eyes are shiny, too."

"Maybe I've got a bit of a cold." But it was not a cold that made her cheeks red, her eyes gleaming.

. . .

Edith was sitting at her dressing table, staring her reflection in the mirror and pinching her cheeks to make them redder, when she heard a faint knock on the door. "Who's here?"

The door opened and Sybil's face appeared in the door frame. "Edith? Are you busy?"

"No, come in. What's the matter?"

Sybil closed the door, folded her hands behind her back and approached the dressing table: she sat on it (like she used to do when she was a child), in front of Edith, then she picked up one of her brooches. She played around with it.

"So, what? Sybil?" She didn't answer.

"Syb? Why did you come here?"

Sybil suppressed a smile, without looking at her.

"Oh, _come on!_" Edith jokingly hit her sister's knee. "Tell me. Is it about last night?"

Sybil finally smiled, a wide smile. "You'll _never_ guess what happened!"

Edith covered her eyes with her hand, mimicking horror. "Oh, God, I'm afraid to ask."

"I met someone!"

"_Sybil!_" Edith stared at her, appalled. "What do you mean, you met someone? A man? In _Third Class?_ Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, Edith, you haven't seen him! I'm sure you'd love him, if you knew him!"

"I doubt it." Edith scowled. "Didn't you go with that boy, the ambassador's son… what's his name, again?"

"Kemal Pamuk? Oh, yeah. But he's so sniffy! He left after half an hour or so!"

"And he left you there, in Third Class? _Alone?!_ Papa would kill him if he knew."Edith stared at her, appalled.

"But I wasn't alone. I told you I met someone."

"Oh, God. And who is he? A miner?"

"A mechanic – oh, don't make that face! He's so nice!"

"Oh, yeah, of course he is. And what's next? You're going to date a valet, the stable boy, or…?"

"Oh, Edie, if I wanted to hear that sort of comments, I would have gone to Mary's room!" Sybil folded her arms. Then, unable to keep serious, she smiled again. "You wouldn't believe how nice he'd been to me. We danced together, and he said he couldn't stand looking at me, that I made him nostalgic. I asked him why, and he said my eyes are the same shade of blue of the Irish sky. Isn't it the most romantic thing you _ever_ heard? He's Irish, you know. His name's Tom."

"Tom!" Edith snorted. "And what else did he tell you? That you're the most beautiful woman he had even seen?"

Sybil pouted. "Well, as a matter of fact, yes, he did tell me that."

"Typical."

"… But he also told me that he had never met a smartest girl in his whole life."

Edith raised an eyebrow. "Why, you dance in a particularly _smart_ way?"

Sybil giggled and shook her head. "Oh, you're so annoying, Edie! We didn't just dance, we talked a lot, too. And he offered me a beer."

"A beer." Edith closed her eyes and raised her hands to the sky. "Dear Lord, please, please, _please _don't make me hear they talked about politics!"

Sybil laughed. "Of course we talked about politics!"

"And women's suffrage?"

"What do you think?"

Her eyes still closed, Edith sighed. "Sweet Lord, have mercy on me."

"Edith, it was wonderful! He _listened _to me!"

"Of course he listened to you. Because you're pretty."

"No, he listened to me because he was _actually interested in what I was saying!_" Sybil grabbed a painted fan from the dressing table and used it to hit Edith on the head.

"Ow! Stop it, Syb!"

Sybil put the fan down. "He said he wants to see me again."

"And you told him it wasn't possible, right? Please, tell me you did."

"I like him, Edith! He's different from all the men we know."

"Of course he is! He's an Irish mechanic, do you think he went to Eton and goes fox-hunting in his spare time?"

"I hate fox-hunting, it's cruel."

"That's not about fox-hunting, Syb." Edith looked at her. "I know you think our life is idle. But let's be practical: do you really think you would enjoy being poor? Washing your own clothes, cooking dinner…"

"I could learn to do that!"

"… Working from dawn to night into a dirty factory, until your hands are as hard as a rock? Washing laundry for a hotel? No money, no nice dresses – you like nice dresses, don't you, Syb? - no jewels, no parties, no books? No fancy schools, no _season_. No more piano lessons, or French. You like playing piano, don't you? You think you could play piano if you were a wet nurse? Or a farmer's wife? You like to take care of your roses, to paint, you like poetry. If you were poor, it would be just work, work, work, all the time, till you drop. And when you get home, a lot of dirty kids running around. Do you think that's better than what we have?"

Sybil was staring at her shoes. "I think it's more authentic." She didn't sound very convincing.

"Oh, Syb…"

"And I'm going to see that boy again."

Edith raised her arms, then she let them fall on her lap. "Of course you are. You've always been as stubborn as a mule." She smiled. "Almost as much as Mary."

Sybil smiled back.

"How are you going to hide the fact that you're a First Class passenger? The daughter of an Earl? Are you going to ask Anna her clothes again?"

"No, I won't. I'll tell him who I am." Suddenly, she chuckled. "Besides, I have spilled beer all over Anna's shirt, I'm afraid it's ruined now."

Edith started laughing. "_Sybil!_"

"It wasn't my fault! A drunken man bumped right into me when we were dancing a reel. But I'll buy her a new one!" Sybil laughed, too.

"Drunken men, beer, reel dancing, Irish mechanics… All of those French governess and etiquette lessons, wasted!"

They were laughing hysterically. Then, slowly, they sobered up. They stared at each other.

"You know it's not going to work, do you, Sybil?"

Sybil bit her lip. "Maybe it is."

They fell silent for a bit. Edith considered telling her sister about Sir Anthony, but, in comparison with her wild experience in Third Class, their quiet after-dinner walk on the deck seemed so dull, meaningless.

Sir Anthony had probably forgotten everything about it by morning – but that Irish boy was surely going to chase Sybil up and down the Titanic for the rest of the crossing, she could bet on that.

Why was she always one step behind her sisters?

Edith sighed. "What if Mama and Papa find out?"

Sybil get up from the table and put her hands on her waist, smiling, her fiery expression back on. "Well, if you're not going to tell them, Edith, I surely won't."


	6. Ship tour

"Lord Grantham!"

Edith took a start, when she heard Sir Anthony's voice. He was approaching them with a wide smile on his face. He and Papa shook their hands. "Lady Grantham, you look particularly lovely this morning. Are you getting younger, while everybody else is aging?"

Mama flashed him with her usual bright, contagious smile. "You're always so very gallant, dear Sir Anthony!"

"Lady Edith, Lady Sybil." He touched his hat to greet them. Edith smiled at him. Sybil bowed her head a bit.

Sir Anthony looked at them. "Are you going for a walk?"

"We are. Just to stretch our legs. Would you like to join us?" Lady Grantham smiled again. Edith smiled, too, encouragingly.

Sir Anthony returned their smile. "Oh, I would love to, but, ah…"

Edith's smile froze.

"… actually, some time ago I had the occasion to see the early blueprints of the _Titanic_, and I'm really interested in seeing how the original projects had turned out - when applied to solid reality, that is."

"You've seen the blueprints? But I thought they were hush-hush." Lord Grantham looked impressed. Edith felt proud, without knowing exactly why.

"Yes, ah… As a matter of fact, I'm a good friend with Lord Pirrie. Well, my late wife was – when he was Lord Mayor in Belfast."

"Oh?" Lady Grantham smiled inquiringly.

"William Pirrie is the chairman of Harland & Wolff – the shipbuilding company that built the Titanic. " Lord Grantham explained to his wife.

"How interesting!" Both the Granthams looked intrigued.

"And, you see, I was wondering if I could steal your lovely daughter from you for a little while. I really enjoyed our talking yesterday at supper, and I would like to thank her by taking her to a tour of the ship with me. If she agrees, of course."

To Edith's horror, she saw her mother's smile fade and her expression turning embarrassed. "Oh, Sir Anthony, you're so very kind to say so – but I'm afraid Mary is taking a walk with his fiancé, this morning, although I'm sure she would be really pleased to…"

"Oh, no, no, no, Lady Grantham," Sir Anthony interrupted her. "I was talking about Lady Edith, there." He turned to her and smiled broadly. She smiled back, bewildered.

"Me?"

"Of course. I mean, if you wish to come, of course."

"Oh, I do, I do!" Edith said, a bit too enthusiastically.

. . .

It was a bright sunny day. Strange how she didn't noticed that before, Edith thought. A bit chilly, maybe, but April is not supposed to be too hot, is it?

"What a lovely day, isn't it, Sir Anthony?" She said.

"Oh, yes. Lovely, indeed." He looked down at the water. "The sea is as calm as a mill pond."

"That's good enough for me." Edith smiled. "I don't like it when ships wobble too much – if you know what I mean."

"Oh, believe me, I do. God knows how bad of a sailor I am." He chuckled, then he turned serious. He stared to the horizon, eyes narrowed. "But I'm afraid it will make the icebergs harder to spot, with no breaking water at the base" he said, absent-mindedly, as if he was talking to himself. "And there's no moon, so the lookouts won't see them coming…"

Edith looked up at him: the intense morning light flooded his face, and his features - sharp nose, square jaw – appeared somehow intensified: his eyes unnaturally clear and bright - his pupils contracted in the blinding light… He looked a lot like a marble bust of Marc Anthony she had seen once, didn't he? And his eyes - so serious and pensive...

She woke up. "…Icebergs, Sir Anthony?"

He turned to her. "Oh, don't mind me. This morning I've seen a wireless operator give the Captain an ice warning. But not to worry, it's quite common, for this time of year. We're heading North, where the water is a lot colder, and we are probably going to see quite a lot of them. They're gigantic, have you ever seen one?, as high as a mountain, sometimes. "

"But isn't it dangerous?" Edith wasn't actually worried, but it sounded like the right thing to say.

"Oh, I don't think so. I'm sure they took every precautions."

"Of course." They walked in silence for a little while.

"You…" Sir Anthony started. Edith gave him an encouraging smile. "You look very pretty, this morning, Lady Edith. Very…" Sir Anthony struggled, as if he was looking for something else to say. "Very pretty indeed."

Edith blushed and smiled. "Thank you."

"That dress… it looks really lovely on you. It… goes well with your hair."

"Does it?" She sent a silent _thank you_ to Anna. _I'll get her a huge Christmas present, this year_, she thought.

Sir Anthony chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm terrible at paying compliments: I've always been, even when I was younger. Now, of course, it's much more difficult."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Well, it looks a little odd, when you're an old invalid and the girl you're paying compliments to is a lovely young woman like you."

Edith laughed, uneasily. "Oh, you're just trying to flatter me, aren't you?" "I bet you say it to every girl you meet." The last bit was one of Mary's favorite lines.

Sir Anthony laughed, too. "No, I don't. Not that I see all that many girls, really. I'm not what they call 'a good catch'." Edith was getting used to his way of putting himself down every time someone told something nice to him.

"I hope I'm not harassing you, Lady Edith. The last thing I want is to annoy you, really."

"Of course you're not annoying me!" Edith stared at him. "What on Earth makes you think that…?"

"Oh, look up there" Sir Anthony said suddenly, eluding her question. "There's the captain, right in front of us. He's taking people to a tour of the ship. Would you like to join them?"

"Oh." Edith tilted her head. "Sure" she said, weakly.

"Let's hurry, then. Oh, you see the man next to him? He's Mr. Andrews, the shipbuilder. I've met him once – very nice chap. I heard he is a very capable engineer, too - hard worker, a self-made man. He's got a solid reputation at the White Star Line. And they told me he is loved and respected by his workers, and that's a rare quality."

They approached the small crowd. Edith glanced at the man Sir Anthony was talking about: he was a tall, dark haired man in his forties, handsome in a wide-handed, broad-shouldered way. She liked his kind, intelligent eyes and demure attitude. He carried a small black notebook with him, and she saw him scribbling a quick note on it.

A very attractive red-haired young woman was talking to him. "Mr. Andrews, I did the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned… forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard."

"About half, actually." He had a thick Irish accent, Edith noticed. "Rose, you miss nothing, do you?"

"Is that true?" Edith whispered, turning to Sir Anthony.

"I'm afraid it is. But that's the law: ships are not required to have enough lifeboats for everyone aboard – actually, enough for a third is the rule: the Titanic's got far more lifeboats than the average ship usually does. Lord Pirrie told me that." He added.

"But – just for half the people aboard? Isn't it dangerous? I mean, if anything bad should happen, what would the other half do?…" Edith turned to him.

"Well, ah…" Sir Anthony looked embarrassed.

"Waste of deck space, as it is." an arrogant-looking young man was poking the lifeboats with the tip of his silver cane. "On an unsinkable ship."

"You know who he is?" Edith whispered, but Sir Anthony shook his head.

The shipbuilder turned and gave the red-haired girl a kind smile. "Sleep soundly, young Rose. I have built you a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboats you need." He said.

Sir Anthony looked down to Edith and smiled. "I think that answers your question, Lady Edith."

She smiled back. "Of course it does."

But suddenly, she wasn't so sure.


	7. Luncheon

"Oh, no, I look _horrible!_" Edith let herself fall into the chair and started crying.

Anna was puzzled. What on Earth had gotten into the middle Crawley sister, lately? She had never been so overly preoccupied about her looks … well, apart from the few times cousin Patrick had been visiting Downton. Poor Patrick, Anna thought, who died a horrible death in that awful Zeppelin airship explosion in 1908. Edith was devastated – much more than Mary, who was Patrick's fiancé at the time.

"Oh, don't say that, M'lady, you look perfectly fine…" she tried to console her.

"No, it's not t-t-true." She sobbed. "I'm fat, and… and my hair looks te-eh-errible… and now I have this appalling blotch on my c-c-chin!" Edith sniffed up. Then she suddenly made a horrified face, as if she had just thought about something disgraceful. "Did I walk around with this obnoxious swelling on my face all morning? Why didn't you tell me, when you dressed me up?"

"Oh, no, M'lady, your chin was perfectly all right this morning." Anna felt sad for Edith, but nonetheless she couldn't understand why she was in such a state over a tiny, and perfectly ordinary, pimple on her chin. It was almost invisible, but by the fuss she was making on it, you could almost think she had bubonic plague or something.

"But I look like a m-monster now! I can't go to luncheon like t-t-that!" Edith was sobbing again.

"Oh, M'lady…" Anna joined her hands and bit her lower lip. Edith had always been the less fortunate of the Crawley girls…

"Maybe there is something I can do, M'lady." She wasn't sure it was the best thing to do, considering how badly the sisters got along, but – the poor girl looked so miserable...

Edith's head snapped up, hopeful. "What?" Her face was red and swollen and fuzzy with crying, and she looked really pitiful. "How?"

"You see" Anna begun, hesitantly. "When Lady Mary happens to get… _spots_… on her face…"

Edith was listening carefully. Mary? _Spots?!_

"There's that... product – something she read about in a magazine – she asked me to order it for her by mail, using my name… I'm sure you're not telling anyone that, are you?" she added, anxiously.

"Oh no, no, of course not!" Edith had abruptly stopped crying. "What is that?"

"Well…" Anna got out of the room and came back a few moments later with a small round box in her hands. He gave it to Edith. "I keep it in my things. Lady Mary asks for it when she needs it."

"_Velvetina... Egypta?_" She read aloud. The letters were covered in gold leaf. She turned it upside down. "_This powder is made for discriminating trade and for those who demand the very best, regardless of price_." She looked up, confused. "What is it, Anna?"

The maid looked uncomfortable. "It's… face powder, M'lady."

"Face powder?" Edith looked shocked. "You mean, Mary had been _painting_ her face?!"

"M'lady…"

"But… that's shameful! No real lady paints her face! It's immoral!"

Anna regretted her decision to help the unfortunate Crawley sister immediately. She should have known better…

"Show me how to use it! Immediately!" Edith was handing the powder box back to her.

Anna stared at her, perplexed. "But, M'lady, you just said that…"

"Yes, yes, it's immoral. _And_ unladylike. But if it makes Mary look the way she looks, I'm fine with it. I'll pray God to forgive me for this the next time I go to Church. Come on, show me."

"All right, M'lady." She reached for the small beeswax jar on Edith's dressing table – she used it to soften her chapped lips. She put a tiny bit of it on her fingers then smeared it on Edith's chin, right over the blemish. She then tapped a bit of powder onto it with a powder puff.

"Here." She smiled.

Edith looked at her reflection in the mirror. She touched her chin, incredulous. The pimple was still there, but it looked a whole lot better: it wasn't so terribly _red_ anymore. "Oh, Anna, you're an angel!"

"Try not to touch it, M'lady, or the powder will go away."

"Of course." She smiled at herself in the mirror.

"Now, tell me. How many other little products do you keep for Mary?"

…

Edith walked proudly into the Palm Court. She was wearing a pink afternoon dress, with short kimono sleeves and a light marquisette skirt draped onto a white tunic. She had a tiny bit of rouge on her cheeks and lips and the faintest trace of eye paint. Edith knew some high society ladies that used that kind of cosmetics… ladies who would deny wearing it and be insulted if anyone ever dared to ask.

When Mary came in (arm in arm with Matthew) and saw her sister, her eyes went wide.

She left Matthew's side and grabbed Edith's arm in an angry grip. "What on Eart do you think you're doing? What is that stuff?" she hissed.

Edith smiled at her. "I don't know what you're talking about." She said, innocently.

"You _painted your face_! I'll tell Mama!"

"And are you going to tell her where I found that _stuff_, too, Mary?"

Mary was furious. "I'm going to kill Anna!"

"Don't blame Anna, it's not her fault - she would never betray you, you know that. I forced her." Edith lied. Actually, she and Anna had quite a bit of fun with Mary's cosmetics. They had been trying this and that, powders and lotions and lip balms, giggling and tittering in Edith's room. "Anyway, I'm not saying anything if you're not saying anything."

"Don't you think Mama will notice that?"

"Mama never looks at me for more than a second, Mary. You know that!"

Mary opened her mouth, but then closed it. It was true. She felt a bit sad for her sister... but just for one second.

"All right. Keep your mouth shut and I'll do the same."

"Fair enough." Edith freed herself from her sister's grasp then walked to the table. To her pleasant surprise, Sir Anthony was already there, and he got up from his chair to greet her with a smile.

"Lady Edith. You look even lovelier than this morning. Would you like to sit there…?"

He pulled the chair next to him away from the table for her to sit.

She blushed. "Thank you, Sir Anthony."

She sat and smiled to him. She couldn't stop smiling, apparently: it was like her jaw was somehow forced to do so by some unknown force. Had she ever been so cheerful in the company of a man? With Patrick, maybe: she had been keen on him, perhaps even in love with him: but she had never been really at ease with Patrick… not the way Sir Anthony made her feel at ease. _Funny_, she thought, _the way a complete stranger could make you feel more comfortable than anyone else, your own family included_.

"The sea air is making me hungrier than usual. Does it do the same to you?"

"I should say so!" She was actually quite hungry, but she was not sure the sea air was to blame for it.

"So, tell me, Sir Anthony… what have you been doing, since we parted this morning? Have you completed the tour of the ship?"

Mary – who was taking a seat - gave her a quick, disgusted glance. _Oh, you can't be serious,_ her eyes were saying.

"Oh, actually, I didn't.", Sir Anthony answered, blissfully unaware of Mary's nasty looks. "In fact, I was hoping you could accompany me again, this afternoon. If you're not busy, of course."

"Oh, no, no, I'm not." She smiled again.

Mary rolled her eyes. _Oh, for God's sake!, _Edith read in her sister's face.

_What?!_ She silently asked Mary, raising her eyebrows.

Mary quickly waved her hand in an exasperated way: _oh, forget it!_

"Can you… excuse me for a moment, Sir Anthony? I think I forgot my… my handkerchief in my room." She smiled, then got up. She turned and made a quick, stiff movement with her head to her sister: _we have to talk_. Mary got up, too and followed her: they went just out of the room. Edith pushed Mary behind a wooden column and grabbed her arm.

"What's wrong with you? Can't you just leave me alone for once?!"

Mary rolled her eyes again.

"Is it because I borrowed your cosmetics?" Edith asked, angrily. "I'm sorry if I ever _dared_ to touch your things, Your Majest…"

They stopped talking for a moment, as an elegant couple passed them by. They bowed their heads and smiled politely, then resumed their fight as soon as the couple was out of earshot.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Edith, it's not that!"

Edith raised her arms. "Then what is it?"

"You just don't know how to handle men, do you? You can't throw yourself at them like that."

"What are you talking about? I'm not _throwing myself _at anyone!"

"Oh, goodness." Mary shook her head, in a way that suggested something like _have_ _I taught you nothing?_

"You're being too eager to please him, you're showing him that you like him. That's not how it works, you know? You should let that bloke hang in the balance a bit, make him think that you're not interested in him!"

"But… why? I _am_ interested in him!"

"Oh, God, Edith, you're a lost cause!" Mary went back inside, leaving a confused Edith standing in the corridor.

_Was Mary right? Was she throwing herself to Sir Anthony?_

She got back into the room and she sit next to Sir Anthony again. She ate her salmon mayonnaise and potted shrimps trying not to glance at Sir Anthony, and making as little conversation as possible, leaving poor Sir Anthony as bewildered as never before.

Lady Edith had been so warm towards him just moments before – had he done something to upset her?


	8. Afternoon

Edith was playing around with a silver brush at her dressing table. The back of the brush was painted with a miniature of a bucolic scene – a young couple in brightly colored clothes, sitting under a tree and flirting with each other.

Absent-mindedly, Edith run the tip of her finger on the silhouette of the painted girl. She had behaved very coldly with Sir Anthony during luncheon – politely answering his questions but barely talking to him apart from that - and he hadn't renewed his invitation to go and finish the tour of the ship with him… Actually, she didn't even let him the time to do so: she had got up and left the Palm Court with Sybil and Mary as soon as they finished their dessert.

Now she was feeling stupid. What was the whole point of looking uninterested in men? It was a trick that may have worked for Mary – men pursued her anyway, and the more unimpressed she looked, the more eager they become - but certainly not for her.

For once, she had listened to her sister's advice, and what had come from it? She was alone and bored in her room; she could have been walking around the decks of that extraordinarily luxurious ship, instead, in that bright sunny afternoon: sea breeze in her hair, elegant people all around her, and a nice gentlemen at her side, paying her compliments and smiling down at her as if she was pretty and interesting, instead of the undistinguished, dull girl she was, with her horrible straw-colored hair and her Roman nose. God, how she wished she too had the dark, shiny locks her sisters had inherited from Mama! How she wished her features were delicate like Mary's, her mouth perfectly shaped like Sybil's!

But she knew she was no Mary, with her patrician beauty and lively personality; and she was no Sybil, either, with her youth and grace and perpetual kindness. She was average-looking and lackluster, and everyone seemed to look right through her. But, even if she was plain, even if she was the always-overlooked middle sister, Sir Anthony smiled whenever he saw her…

She wondered what did he see in her to make him smile: she stared at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head right and left, examining her profile, the line of her nose, of her mouth: she wasn't a beauty, that was eyes half-closed, she casted a sidelong glance at the mirror: maybe, in the right light… if she wore her hair like this – she pushed her curls back – or perhaps like that – she let it fall on her forehead…

"Edith?"

She stopped abruptly and turned around. Sybil had opened the door and was standing there, looking at her.

"What were you doing?" Her sister was staring curiously at her.

"Nothing" she answered, brusquely. "What do you want, Syb?"

Her sister pouted. "There's no need to be so surly. I just wanted to ask you if you liked to come with us for a walk on the promenade deck. Papa wants to see the gymnasium: somebody told him there are rowing machines in there, and he is eager to show Mama how good of an oarsman he is: you know Papa and his memories of his glorious Eton days."

Edith was forced to smile. "Oh, yes, I do. _I led Eton Boat Club to victory against Westminster all by myself in the summer of '78!_" she mimicked him."_Those pups couldn't stand a chance against Roaring Robert!_"

Sybil laughed. "I've heard there's a mechanic camel, too." She added. "I wonder if Mary is going to try it."

Now it was Edith's turn to laugh. "Oh, God, that is definitely something I would pay good money to see!"

"Me, too. Come on, let's go. We can ask cousin Matthew to put her on the saddle."

Edith laughed again. "He would never do it. He knows perfectly well that she would strangle him with her own hands if he did anything remotely facetious to her."

"Mary is not the kind of woman who puts her hands around a man's neck." Sybil retorted.

"Isn't she?"

"Nah. I think she's more the kind of woman who would ask a _valet_ to do that for her!"

Edith giggled. "You're absolutely right." She got up. "Do you happen to know where Anna is? I haven't seen her since this morning. I'd like her to get my pink coat, it's getting chilly outside."

…

"You see? That's how you do it, my dear girls."

Lord Grantham was working the oars of one of the stationery rowing machines. He was looking a bit ridiculous, with the sleeves of his tailored suit rolled up and his face red and concentrated like a college boy's.

"You're doing a great job, dear, really." Lady Grantham was clearly trying not to laugh at her husband. "But don't you think it better to leave that kind of things to a younger public?"

"Nonsense! Young people should come and learn from me!" He said that jokingly, but loudly enough for everyone on the deck to hear it.

The sisters – Mary included – giggled. Papa could be so childish!

Matthew was staring curiously at a mechanic horse, and a small, muscly man in a funny white flannel tracksuit (that, Edith thought, looked a lot like a pajamas) came over and started talking enthusiastically about the exercisers. He hit a switch and the mechanic horse started to undulate. Matthew made an awkward attempt to climb onto it, but he fell down, clumsily. Sybil laughed behind her fan, and Mary suppressed a condescend smile. "Didn't they teach you to ride at law school, Matthew dear?"

Edith repressed a surge of irritation. _Oh, God, here we go again_, she thought; she was sick and tired of Mary and Matthew bickering.

"_Mary!_" Lady Grantham shoot her a nasty look. "There's no need to be rude."

"I'm not being rude, Mama, I was just wondering whether riding was a skill required for the inn of courts!"

"Oh, Mary, you can be such a snob!"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Why are you always taking his side, Mama?"

"I'm not taking anybody's side, my dear, but you're being really ungracious with poor Matthew. And I really don't think we should have this conversation in public, anyway."

"Poor Matthew" raised a finger, opened his mouth and tried to have his say, but nobody was paying much attention to him - as usual, Mary was attracting everybody's eyes on her - so he closed it again and stared sadly at the two women, who kept talking about him as if he wasn't there. Matthew and Edith shared a knowing look: the situation was getting embarrassing... as it usually did, everytime Mary was disappointed.

Suddenly, Edith thought she had enough of it – enough of Mary and her prima donna attitude, enough of Matthew and his whipped dog look, enough of her well-intentioned, but annoying parents, enough of sweet Sybil acting like a peacemaker: unnoticed, she sneaked out of the gymnasium, back on the A-deck promenade.

…

She wandered around for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh, salty air on her face. Elegant couples were strolling up and down the deck; officers walked around in their black wool coats; a young girl (maybe six years old) in a white coat and matching hat was standing on the lower rung of the rail, leaning over to stare at the water.

"Look, Mama, look" Edith heard her say "I think I've seen a dolphin!"

A well-dressed man was playing with his son, who was spinning a top with a string. Edith stared at them for a few minutes, and for some reason that moment had for her the quality of a memory even while she was living it. She felt strange, melancholic, for no reason.

"Wrap it tightly. Now let it go."

The kid tossed the top. Edith watched it spin around on the deck with a rattling noise... it was almost hypnotic.

"Excellent, son, well done!"

Suddenly, she felt a shiver down her spine, and for a split second, she had the distinct impression that everything she was seeing, everything before her eyes, was just temporary, as frail as a glass figurine, and that something terrible was just about to happen, hanging above their heads like the sword of Damocles.

And then, as quickly as it came, the eerie sensation was gone, and she shrugged, wondering why did she have such silly thoughts. What on Earth could ever happen, on a ship that represented everything human progress had achieved? It was a beautiful day, and the Titanic was a wonder, a dream turned into solid reality. Everything around her suggested sheer stability, luxury, modernity. People passing her by on the deck were the cream of the crop: duchesses and earls, captains of industry, art dealers. Nothing could ever go wrong.

Suddenly, she spotted a familiar silhouette, an arm hanging in a black silk sling.

He was leaning on the rail, staring at the horizon, his fair hair lightly ruffled by the sea breeze; his black, old-fashioned coat was unfastened, and the collar of his white shirt fluttered around his neck. He looked so serious…

Edith stared at his pensive figure for a few moments, unnoticed; his silhouette (asymmetrical, with the injured arm folded on his chest; yet dignified, like a general of a lost war staring at the battlefield) - stood tall and solid against the bright blue sky; his eyebrows were slightly tense, his lips pursed. A quiet, somewhat customary, unmistakable sadness was painted all over his face. He looked so very different from the broadly smiling, lavishly affable gentlemen she had seen in the morning - he could as well have been another person. Everything in his figure – bent over, round-shouldered, with his good arm hanging loosely by his side – suggested one precise word: loneliness.

She recognized it immediately. She had seen it so many times… in the mirror.

At some point, he closed his eyes and let out a slow, deep breath, and Edith thought she could literally _feel_ what he was feeling, so accurately she felt almost sick. She hadn't quite realized how similar the two of them were, until that moment. But she could see it now, and for a moment she thought she had never felt so close to somebody, ever. Was it possible, to feel so intimate to someone you only just met? To feel like you have known a person forever? To see yourself in anybody else, like you were in front of a mirror?

She felt the urge to run to him, to grab his arm tightly and tell him that she knew, she knew, she knew what it was like. But she couldn't - could she? It wasn't ladylike at all, and God, it would have been so awkward… he surely would have thought her crazy.

Instead, she put a smile on and strolled over to him. "Sir Anthony, what are you doing here?" she asked, cheerfully.

"Lady Edith!" When he spun around and saw her, his face lit up immediately (Edith's heart wrenched at the plain, evident, genuine joy her sight had aroused in him): he smiled his usual broad, awkward smile - but she could still see melancholy, deep inside his blue eyes. She suddenly, painfully recognized in him her very same ungainliness, her same excessive eagerness to please.

"I was just enjoying the sea air. Are you going for a walk with your sisters?"

_You weren't enjoying the air_, she thought. _You were dispiriting yourself with God knows what sad thoughts, and I won't let you_. "Yes, we'd just been in the gymnasium… Papa tried to teach us how to row, imagine that." They laughed politely together.

"I've heard he was sort of a champion, back in his student days at Eton." Sir Anthony smiled.

"He was." Edith rolled her eyes and smiled. "God knows how many times he told us that!" She shook her head and smiled again. Then, she suddenly turned serious and she looked at him in the eye: he stared back at her with a questioning look.

"Is there something wrong, dear Lady Edith?"

"Sir Anthony, I… I feel the need to apologize to you." she said, candidly.

_Whoops_. Mary wouldn't have approved that.

He raised his eyebrows. "Apologize, Lady Edith?"

"Yes. You know, I was rather… impolite today at luncheon. I mean… I was absent-minded." Edith could almost see Mary tearing her hair out in exasperation. "You must think I am very ill-mannered."

He tilted his head on the side and smiled. "I would never think that."

"The thing is…" Edith stared at her shoes, desperately looking for an excuse. "I… er… I wasn't feeling very well, you know." _Weak, Edith, weak_, she thought. _Think about something plausible. Think!_ "My… ah… usual seasickness." _God, if he is half as smart as I think he is, he will never believe that._

But, apparently, Sir Anthony was perfectly satisfied with her explanation. "Ah, I'm sorry to hear that." But he didn't look very sorry: actually, (Edith was amazed at how plain to see his feelings were, how transparent he was) he looked noticeably reassured. "I hope you're feeling better, now?"

"Oh, yes. Quite better, thank you." She smiled broadly in a way that - she was sure of that even without seeing it - was terribly similar to his.

"You know, I am relieved to hear that – I mean, not relieved that you've been unwell, of course." he added quickly. "I mean, I'm glad that you weren't upset about something I'd done. You know, I thought I had done or said something to annoy you. It had been worrying me, you know…"

"Oh, no. Not at all, no." They smiled clumsily at each other. An uncomfortable silence fell between them, but not because they had nothing to say to each other. Quite the contrary: Edith would have loved to talk with him about so many things… but alas, social conventions didn't allow a lady, or a gentleman, to be straightforward about certain things – feelings, especially, weren't something a lady was encouraged to talk about.

"I.. I'd better go back inside. They'll be wondering where I am" Actually, she wasn't so sure her family had even noticed she had been gone.

"Of course, of course." He nodded vigorously. " Have a nice day, Lady Edith." She bowed her head in a goodbye and turned to the gym.

"I… ah…" he mumbled. "Yes?" She turned back, smiling encouragingly.

"I hope to see you at dinner?" He held out his left arm, hesitantly. She didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but (without thinking), she reached for his hand and squeezed it. Then she smiled timidly, blushing, and she let his hand go. "I most certainly hope so, Sir Anthony."


	9. New Money

Edith shivered in anticipation while entering the saloon: she could hear the band play _A Waltz Dream_, well-dressed gentlemen, standing with one hand at the small of the back, talking quietly and women in their floor length dresses laughing politely behind their fans.

That night, she was going to blow Sir Anthony's mind with her most elaborate dress and her most flattering hairdo. He was going to tell her how lovely she was, and she was going to smile and flush…

She was wearing a hobble-skirt evening gown, gathered in between the legs in a way that forced her to take very small steps. The frock consisted of two different pieces: an aubergine, sleeveless taffeta underdress, and a black, beaded chiffon overdress with short kimono sleeves. The low-cut top showed off her neck and shoulders, and a matching headband was tied in her hair. She thought her outfit to be very elegant, but as usual Mary outshone her in a very simple, classy, cream-colored draped chiffon dress. Sybil was wearing a blue and gold dress, and blue ribbons were woven into her hair.

That night, the Dowager was with them, in an old-fashioned, leg-o-mutton sleeve mauve dress. She kept casting disdainful looks around and mumbling to herself about "new money", wagging around her cane.

...

A blonde, blue-eyed, very young man was talking to John Jacob Astor. Arm in arm with him was the pretty red-haired girl Edith had seen talking with Mr. Andrews about the lifeboats. She heard the man being introduced as Jack Dawson.

"Are you of the Boston Dawsons?" Astor asked politely.

"No, the Chippewa Falls Dawsons, actually." The young man answered, after a brief hesitation.

...

"_Americans_." The Dowager snorted, half-annoyed, half-amused.

"Please, Mama, don't be too haughty tonight." Lord Grantham shoot her an imploring look.

"I'm never haughty, my dear. I'm just proud of my heritage."

Robert lowered his head and whispered to her. "Shall I remind you that the noble heritage you're so proud of had been saved from a very noble, but nonetheless catastrophic bankruptcy using American money?"

"Please, let's not talk about money at dinner. It's so cousin Isobel."

Robert sighed. "Cousin Isobel is a good woman, Mama. You shouldn't be so hard on her."

"I never said she's not a good woman. Actually, it's her being so good that annoys me so much."

"_Mama_…"

"The halo of holiness around her head must be so heavy by now, I wonder if she doesn't get backache every now and then."

"Mama!" Robert tried to look exasperated, but he was obviously trying to repress a smile.

"Well? Shall we sit and have dinner or are we going to talk about absent distant relatives all night long?"

...

Edith sat down at the table and looked around, trying to spot Sir Anthony. _It shoudn't be too hard_, she thought; _Sir Anthony is probably the tallest man aboard._

Suddenly, she saw a familiar fair-haired head towering over the crowd.

"Sir Anthony!" she raised a white-gloved hand to draw his attention and show where they were. She saw his eyes widen when he finally caught sight of her. He raised his good hand in reply and smiled. Edith saw her grandmother raising an eyebrow at her with a bizarre expression on her face, but paid no attention to her.

Sir Anthony was cutting his way through the crowd, when suddenly a broad-shouldered, red-haired, loud woman inserted herself between him and Edith.

"The gang's all here, I see!" she shouted, merrily. She planted two big kisses on Cora's cheeks, then she turned to Violet. The Crawleys held their breath, waiting for the upcoming clash of titans. "Is that your mother, Robert? She looks spry for her age, doesn't she?" Molly slapped the old Dowager on the back. Violet was petrified: she looked like she had been run over by a carriage.

"Margaret, it's a – _real pleasure_ to see you again." Cora smiled weakly, glancing anxiously from her to her mother-in-law.

"It's 'Molly' for my friends, Cora dear, I've already told you that. Can I sit there with you lot?" Without waiting for a reply, she sat down heavily next to an alarmed Edith, on the chair that – in Edith's mind – was destined to Sir Anthony.

_No, no no no no_… she thought. For once, _for once_ in her life everything was going well…

The poor girl anxiously turned her head and saw Strallan staring uncertainly at her in the middle of the crowd. He looked confused. Edith opened her mouth to say something to Molly, but a quick glance from her mother stopped her: w_e can't drive her out_, she read in Cora's eyes. When she turned around again, Sir Anthony had disappeared in the crowd. She wondered where he was going to sit. _Maybe, later, I could join him for a walk or – or something_…

"So, how's good old Martha doing? Always fit as a fiddle, I guess?" Molly Brown rubbed her hands in a way that made Violet sit even more stiffly on her chair.

"Er… She's very well, thank you." Cora looked embarrassed, but also (Edith thought) slightly amused; Robert looked like he had just swallowed a raw octopus, and so did Mary.

The only people who looked genuinely entertained by her rough manners were Matthew and Sybil. Sybil, in particular, looked like she had taken an instant liking in her. "I've heard you are a member of the Denver Woman's Club. I think it's terrific!"

"More like terri_fying!_" Molly burst into loud laughter. "Those Denver women are so blasé: the Women's Club is just another occasion to gossip and sip tea around a table for them; and they dislike me because I'm not as classy as them. I mean, I know I'm not exactly all prim and proper, am I?" She grinned. "But I had a hard time being accepted by those ladies, all up on their high horses."

Violet mumbled something that sounded like _I really can't imagine why_.

"But that's awful!" Sybil looked upset. "I mean, isn't it supposed to be a movement about equality, and… that sort of things?"

Molly Brown chortled again. "Oh, my sweet child, I like your naiveté. Please, stay this way as long as you can." She said, shaking her head. "But don't worry, my money had the last word in it. They might consider me vulgar, or loud, or unrefined - but they _love _bucks. My husband struck gold, so suddenly I found myself in the club."

Sybil looked like she was dying to ask her something. At the end, she couldn't hold it anymore.

"Did you marry him because he was rich?"

"_Sybil!_" The whole family (Cora, Robert, Mary, Edith, even Matthew) jumped on their chair in shock.

Violet closed her eyes. Edith could swear she had heard her grumble _Is she going to ask what kind of underwear is she wearing or something?_

"I'm so, so sorry, Molly, I'm sure she didn't mean to…" Cora started, but Molly Brown was cackling as she had just heard the most hilarious joke. "Don't worry, Cora dear: every time I meet someone, they look like they're _dying_ to ask it. I'm glad your daughter finally had the guts to say it out loud."

She turned to Sybil. "I wanted to marry a rich man, everyone knows that. But I loved Jim Brown." Edith cast a quick glance to Violet, and was amused to see the disgusted look on her face. Money _and_ feelings, the two things Granny really couldn't bear to hear about.

"You see, I had determined to stay single until a man presented himself who could give to me and my family the things I longed for us."

Violet turned to Robert. "Can I be haughty again, now?" she whispered.

"Jim was as poor as we were, and had no better chance in life. I struggled hard with myself in those days. I loved Jim, but he was poor. Finally, I decided that I'd be better off with a poor man whom I loved rather than with a wealthy one. So I married Jim Brown… and then he found a huge lode of gold."

"_How convenient_." Violet whispered in the lowest tone.

Edith was listening carefully. That woman could be as vulgar as a fishwife, but she sure knew where her heart was. She wondered if she could say the same about herself, or her sisters.

"I guess I can say I'm a lucky girl, can't I?" Molly Brown giggled.

"So you married for love?" Sybil's eyes were gleaming. "Going against your own interest?"

"I think you can say that."

"Was your family against it?" Sybil looked like she was enjoying the "star-crossed lovers" feel of it.

"My family wished the best for me. I was happy, so they were happy for me."

_That's another thing I'm not sure I could expect from the Crawley family_, Edith thought. She tried again to spot Sir Anthony. She felt unheeded and undistinguished again, now that he was not there. She had so hoped to be with him at dinner: he had a way to make her feel interesting, and pretty, and generally better than she actually was… Or maybe (the thought suddenly struck her) she actually became a better person when she was around him?

She wondered what he would have said about Molly Brown. She had the feeling he would have liked her - well, sort of.

...

...

...

_You can find Molly Brown's speech about her husband (that I quoted almost entirely) on the Wikipedia page dedicated to her_.


End file.
